Dream Song

by Linda Ladd

  "Well, not quite the same thing," Luke conceded with a smile, sliding the bolt behind him. He stripped off his robe on the way to the bed and joined her under the satin sheets.

  As he took her in his arms, Bethany reached up to stroke his face, very much wanting him to understand how she felt. "Really, Luke, it's part of being a mother or a father, to be there when your children need you. Don't you remember when you were little? How it felt when you wanted your mother and she wasn't there?"

  Luke's smile faded, and she knew with a sinking feeling that her words had touched a raw spot inside him, even though he gathered her closer to him.

  "Yes, I remember how that felt," he muttered, stroking her hair. "I won't stop you from going to Pete again"

  Bethany pressed her lips against his chest, wondering how it had been between his mother and him. She wanted to ask him, and comfort him if need be, but intuition told her not to pursue the subject. He would tell her someday when he was ready. Now, she would be content to lie warm and safe in his strong arms. She would always be there for him when he needed her, just as she would be for his son.

  Chapter 14

  The Saturday of the race dawned bright and beautiful, but Bethany was a bundle of nerves from the first moment she opened her eyes. As she sat in the small, cozy dining room of Andrew's Toulouse Street townhouse with its rose-and-cream brocade walls, she fidgeted nervously. Wanting something to do, she stirred more milk into her coffee, all the while watching Luke, who sat at the other end of the oval mahogany table. They were breakfasting alone since everyone else was busy with some errand or commitment, and Bethany stared at her husband, her eyes playing over his tanned, handsome face as he read the Louisiana Gazette. He rarely said anything at breakfast, but he liked her to be there with him. He was dressed for riding in snug black breeches and high, shiny, black Hessians with a loose white silk shirt. Even in casual attire, he looked so elegantly attractive that Bethany was proud to be the one he had chosen to wed.

  But, recurrent anxieties rose like wraiths to dance in her mind-he would never have married her if it hadn't been for Peeto; he did not love her and did not deny it; he wanted her, but he had wanted other women in the past; and worst of all, he planned to leave her before the first of the year.

  She watched his straight dark brows come together as if he was annoyed at something he had read, and Bethany felt a chill. His anger could be formidable, and she had no doubt she would be subjected to it if he ever found out she was going to ride Osiris for Philippe Benoist. He must never, ever know. She continued to watch him, waiting for an opportunity to put her plan into action. After a while, Luke looked up by chance and found Bethany's eyes fixed on him.

  "What?" he asked.

  She raised a quizzical brow. "What, what?"

  Luke smiled. "You have that look on your face, the one that means you're just about to do something you shouldn't."

  Uh oh, Bethany thought, appalled that he found her so transparent, especially now, when she really did have something to hide.

  "No, I was just noticing that you're wearing your riding clothes."

  Luke waited, but Bethany only sipped her coffee without further comment. He folded his newspaper and laid it down beside his plate. "All right, you have my attention. What is it?"

  Bethany fiddled with the handle of her cup, and Luke's gaze dropped to her nervous gestures, then returned to her lovely face. Her big silver-gray eyes met his green ones, and when she smiled-a smile made in heaven-he knew she would probably get whatever it was she wanted, even if she was having trouble asking for it. He waited.

  "Well," she began at last, "quite a while ago you promised Petie that you'd teach him to ride, and he thinks you aren't ever going to."

  Luke should have known her request would be in behalf of someone else. Unlike most women he had known, Bethany never asked for things for herself.

  "Does he really want me to be the one to teach him?" Luke found that a little hard to believe. His son didn't seem to enjoy his company particularly.

  Bethany's gaze dropped for a mere instant. "He wants to learn," she answered evasively, "and since you're going riding anyway, I just thought it might be a good time. Tante Chloe has taken Raffy to the market with her, and Petie's all alone upstairs-"

  "All right," Luke interrupted. "Get him ready and the three of us will go together."

  He stood, then paused, regarding Bethany questioningly as she continued to hesitate.

  "What now?" he asked.

  "Michelle's still awfully afraid. I really hate to leave her here by herself, and you never have spent much time alone with Petie-"

  Her eyes beseeched him again, and Luke couldn't refuse her, although he knew Michelle would be perfectly safe in the house with all the servants.

  "All right, I'll take him out to Cantigny. Andrew's there today, and he can help me choose a suitable mount for the boy. It's time he had his own horse anyway."

  Relieved, Bethany hurried to get Peeto ready. Though the child would have preferred that she come along, the idea of having his own pony was too much of an enticement for him to drag his feet about going alone with his father.

  Bethany waved them off, then gave Elise strict instructions to stay close to Michelle until she returned. Half an hour after Luke and Peeto left for Cantigny, she donned a pair of Raffy's trousers and a plain linen shirt and left the house. The masculine attire felt strange now that she had grown accustomed to wearing gowns and petticoats, but she kept her long cloak tucked carefully around her as she walked the short distance through the narrow thoroughfares of the Vieux Carré to the walled courtyard of the Benoist home.

  Philippe was pacing impatiently beside his black carriage, behind which Osiris stood tethered. He smiled in relief as Bethany appeared. She didn't return his smile.

  "I was afraid you'd change your mind," he said, his eyes flicking down to her tight black breeches.

  "I just want to hurry up and get this over with. Do you have the agreement?"

  He produced a parchment from his inside coat pocket. Bethany read it slowly and carefully, chagrined when some of the big words gave her trouble, but the agreement seemed in good order. Nevertheless, she was careful to watch him sign it.

  "You're a petit bit suspicious, aren't you?" Philippe asked with not a little sarcasm.

  Bethany gave him a cold look. "With you, I am."

  "I sincerely hope you'll change your mind about me one day. Maybe when your husband returns to his savage friends?"

  "Whether Luke is here or not, nothing could make me like you," Bethany told him, then changed the subject, not wanting to discuss her marriage with him. "Did you bring a mask for me?"

  "Oui," he answered, holding up a black velvet mask. "No one will suspect you're a woman in those clothes."

  Bethany examined the mask, which was designed to cover the top half of her face. With the old wool cap she had brought with her, it should disguise her well enough. She waited until they were inside the closed coach and on their way before she stuffed her curly hair into the cap, but as they approached Métairie, where the race was to take place, she began to wonder if she was doing the right thing. Luke would kill her if he found out. Maybe she shouldn't, she thought, then she remembered poor Michelle, lying trembling in her bed. Yes, she had to ride.

  As they drove across the grassy fields surrounding the track, she looked out at the dozens of carriages and coaches parked around them, their slave drivers congregated in small groups to pass the time.

  "You didn't tell me it was such a big race!" Bethany said accusingly, her eyes on the long viewing stand at the far side of the field. It was filled to capacity with enthusiastic horse racing fans.

  "It's the biggest race of the year, that's why it's so important for me to win it," Philippe replied, admiring Bethany's flushed face. Even in the black cap and masculine clothes, she looked every bit a woman. He certainly hoped the rumor that Luke Randall would be returning soon to the western mountains was a true one, since
his absence would leave his beautiful new bride fair game for pursuit.

  "You better put on the mask. I need to fill you in on the route. There are several hedge jumps and three ditches-"

  "It's a steeplechase?" Bethany asked in surprise.

  "Oui. It goes through the woods yonder, then across a narrow wooden bridge. The water traps are in the last stretch before the grandstand."

  "That's even better. No one will get a good look at me," Bethany murmured. She had often jumped horses bareback at her father's place, and Osiris was strong. Swift as well, according to Philippe. She couldn't imagine another horse outclassing the magnificent mare.

  Bethany arranged the half mask before she stepped down, patting Osiris's neck as Philippe methodically outlined the different obstacles she would face. She listened dutifully as Philippe laced his fingers to boost her onto Osiris's back. She had ridden several of her father's horses in local races when she was only twelve. She had won all of them. Those had been some of the few times her father had seemed proud of her.

  "You really should have ridden the course a few times in advance," Philippe said, "just to acquaint yourself with the traps. All the other riders have."

  "Stop worrying about me. I know what I'm doing. But, don't expect me to tarry long afterward. I don't intend to let anyone recognize me."

  The insistent, hollow clanging of a bell drifted out over the field, summoning the riders into position. Bethany kept a tight rein on Osiris. The mare sidestepped a bit, keyed up by the shouts of the crowd and the neighing of the other horses, but the Arabian responded beautifully to Bethany's whispered commands and to the pressure of her knees. Bethany's confidence grew as she urged her mount forward to the starting line, positioning herself as far away from the spectators as she could. Even so, several people pointed excitedly at her, recognizing Philippe Benoist's spirited white Arabian. Bethany kept her face averted from their curious stares.

  Gold and royal blue pennants on the red grandstand poles snapped and fluttered in the brisk wind, and the excited drone of the onlookers filled the air. Bethany nosed the mare into line, glad the other riders were too intent on calming their own steeds or listening to last-minute instructions from the horses' owners to pay much attention to her. She adjusted her black leather gloves and the mask as the man with the starting horn raised his right hand. Bethany bent close to the mare's quivering ear, suddenly filled with excitement.

  "Come on, Osiris, all you have to do is run," she whispered. "You're the best! Show them what you can do!"

  She leaned low over Osiris's neck, drawing her knees high in the way her father had taught her. As the starting horn blared, she felt the mare's sleek, powerful muscles jump beneath her thighs. They lunged forward as one, barely aware of the great roar that rose from the viewing stand.

  Osiris took the lead almost at once as they galloped across the first level, grassy stretch. Bethany kept as low as she could, feeling an unrivaled exhilaration as the wind rushed past her ears, thrilled to be riding such a magnificent animal. She urged the mare to an even greater pace as they left the open field for the track that cut between huge cypress trees. She could hear the muffled thunder of hooves behind her, but a quick backward glance told her Osiris had outdistanced the pack, except for one big black stallion that was perhaps three lengths behind her.

  Bethany hugged Osiris's neck, trying to cut down the wind on her face as a wide, wooden bridge loomed in front of her. Osiris's hooves beat a rapid, hollow cadence across the planks then they entered the field of final obstacles. Great, ground-devouring strides took them to the first ditch and over it with surefooted ease. A hedgerow was next, and the mare took it in stride. As they came down on the other side, however, the ribbon on Bethany's mask snapped, and she gasped as the fluttering velvet blinded her for a moment. Osiris must have sensed a difference in the reins as Bethany tried to catch the mask, and the Arabian slowed slightly as they approached the second hedge. But, the mare soon regained her footing, and they flew over it.

  The momentary lapse in speed, however, had brought the black stallion to a half-length behind her, and Bethany urged Osiris on with renewed vigor. They were in the last stretch now, with only one jump ahead; but, it was the most dangerous one, she realized at once, as she saw the deep water ditch hugging the far side of the barrier. Once over that, it would be a fifty-yard dash to the finish line. She frowned as the black horse moved slowly abreast of her.

  Andrew turned slightly as Onyx finally gained on the fast Arabian, then, he froze in the saddle when he saw Bethany's face. She was equally shocked at the sight of her brother-in-law, but was forced to jerk her attention back to the track as they approached the last jump. Osiris landed cleanly on the other side and raced like the wind along the home stretch.

  Bethany had no idea that Onyx's back legs had caught the top of the barrier, sending Andrew flying out of the saddle to land in a sprawl on the muddy edge of the ditch.

  Luke came to his feet in the viewing stands as his brother fell, rolled, and lay still. Then, Luke started toward him at a run, with Pete just behind him. He paid no attention to the great cheer that went up as the white Arabian won the race. He reached Andrew before the attending physicians could arrive and dragged him bodily out of the track just before several other horses thundered past them.

  "Andy! Are you all right?"

  "Yes," Andrew said shakily, groaning as he tried to sit up. "It's my leg. I think it's broken."

  "Don't move. Thank God it wasn't your neck," Luke said, breathing heavily, then stepped back to make way for the stretcher. He missed Pete then, and turned to find the boy running toward the crowd at the finish line. He caught the boy in three strides, raising him high in the air.

  "It's Beth, it's Beth, didn't you see her?" Pete cried, trying to twist loose.

  Luke frowned. "Beth? Where?"

  "Riding Osiris! She won the race, didn't you see?"

  Luke examined the crowd surrounding the victorious white horse just as someone pulled the black cap off the victor and released a tumble of blond ringlets.

  "Stay here with Andrew, Pete," Luke said with steel in his voice. "I'll take care of Beth."

  Bethany was upset to have been caught in the midst of the excited Creoles, especially after having lost her mask and cap, but she no longer cared about being recognized. Her eyes were on Andrew, who lay surrounded by doctors. Philippe fought his way over to where she still sat on Osiris, a triumphant grin on his face. His shouts in French momentarily quieted the young men congratulating Bethany. Then, at that exact moment, Bethany saw an enraged Luke coming toward her with long, pounding strides, his face black with fury, and all she could think about was getting away.

  "You've got to get me out of here, Philippe!" she cried, but the jostling crowd of well-wishers pressing in around Osiris made escape impossible.

  Luke paid even less attention to the shouting men. He pushed his way through them, his fists clenched, his eyes full of fire.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded furiously, reaching up to get a tight grip on her arm.

  "Wait, Luke, please. I can explain-" Bethany began, but he paid no heed to her entreaty, pulling her off Osiris and then after him through the onlookers without a whit of regard for Philippe Benoist or his Creole friends.

  Those Creole gentlemen, however, were apparently incensed to see their courageous young winner being manhandled, especially by one of the crude Américains who had invaded their city and tried to impose their will upon French ways.

  "Unhand her, monsieur," cried a fair-haired young man as Luke dragged his wife past. To Bethany's horror, the Creole fop pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from his velvet sleeve and whipped it sharply across Luke's dark, lean cheek.

  If Luke was surprised by the sudden challenge, he didn't show it. Instead, he gave a low growl and, taking hold of the young man's frilly cravat with one hand, he lifted Bethany's hapless champion off the ground and shoved him backward hard enough to send the poor ma
n in a somersault before he lay still on the grass. Luke's act immediately engendered a fresh onslaught of anger among the shocked Creoles, and at least seven challenges were spit out in vituperative French. Luke ignored them all, holding tight to Bethany's arm as he pushed his way through the angry mob.

  "Leave them. He is her husband," Philippe yelled to his insulted friends. "He is le sauvage!"

  More than one of the challengers blanched, appalled to learn the identity of the man they had so recklessly challenged, and not one among them attempted to follow the big, black-haired Américain as he headed back toward his injured brother.

  As Luke knelt beside Andrew, Bethany hugged Peeto. Never had she felt so terrible about anything, and she was even more upset when she heard that Andrew's right leg was fractured. How could everything have gone so wrong? she thought miserably as several men hoisted Andrew on a stretcher and carried him to the hospital wagon.

  Luke gave her a look that sent a flush of shame to her cheekbones. Saying nothing, he took her arm again, not pulling her as before, but keeping her at his side, while Peeto held tightly to her other hand. Jemsy sat waiting at the Randall coach, and Luke turned to Bethany, his face rigid with control.

  "Take Pete back to Cantigny. There will be enough talk and scandal over this without us going back to the house in the Vieux Carré. I'm going with Andy."

  Bethany watched him turn away from her, her heart full of fear. The fragile, tenuous threads with which she had labored so diligently to bind their hearts together had snapped in twain, and she wasn't sure Luke would ever forgive her.

  Chapter 15

  Cantigny was as quiet as a tomb the following morning, when Bethany finally found the courage to venture out of her bedchamber. Even the servants kept to the kitchens for fear of encountering le sauvage, and Bethany was relieved to meet Michelle on the grand staircase.

  "Oh, Michelle, I'm so glad to see you!"